Dragon of the East: The Fates of Heroes
by Okan-Zeeus
Summary: ***DOTE ARC 2*** An account of four souls, whose fates become intertwined by the return of the dragons. This is a retelling of Skyrim's events as inspired by one of my most memorable playthroughs, following the life and story of Chases-The-Wind, Argonian nomad and dragonborn of the fourth era.
1. Arc 2 - Prologue

Hello everyone! This is Arc 2 of my Skyrim Retelling: _**Dragon of the East!**_ It is less a standalone story and more like "part 2" of a larger whole. Be sure to check out Arc 1: Arrival in the North to catch up on the story thus far. You can find a link to it on my profile page.

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><p><strong>~ PROLOGUE ~<strong>

_Okan-Zeeus_

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><p><em>Nine years ago…<em>

I awoke with a start. Sitting upright, my senses alert, I scanned the room around me. It was small and dark, with rounded walls made of dried mud, straw, and log frame. Wicker baskets were piled in a corner. Small jars rested upon a hanging set of shelves, suspended by ropes. A soft leaf pallet lay beneath me.

This was my home in Archon – I had merely woken up. As I steadied my breathing, I felt a slight shuffling beside me. Milah was awake as well. I must have disturbed her sleep, though she seemed content to ignore my sudden fit of rousing. Slowly, silently, I stood and walked through a doorway draped with fern leaves into an adjoining living space. A fire pit for cooking sat in the room's center, encircled by assorted amenities, among them a wood table with log stump seats.

_Hist spit on these nightmares, _I thought to myself. _Will they ever stop?_

The cool, damp air of the night sent shivers down my tail. Moonlight glazed across the dirt floor from a smoke vent in the domed ceiling. I lingered in place, staring up at the glow of a crescent Secunda. The vent was my knothole to the rainforest sky. Crickets and tree frogs chirped outside in cadenced disharmony. I wanted to believe all here was peaceful. How badly I wanted to.

I drew a sharp breath through my nostrils, trying to take in the smell of the room. The scent of blood proved too overwhelming. It was nearly all I smelled anymore.

Stooping over a small ceramic basin, set high on a pedestal of Imperial craftsmanship – it had been a gift from a friend – I caught my ghastly reflection. Faint traces of white and black pigment clung to the skull-like façade staring back at me. I splashed water on my face, rubbing it clean. Everything felt dull and languid. Nights like this always came on the eve of black letter dead drops. Clasping the edges of the bowl, I leaned my weight against it, watching the water distort and ripple. My breathing was slow, but heavy. Droplets fell from stubble horns on my chin.

This was torture. Such insufferable waiting! The An-Xileel would not gather at Helstrom's Great Xanmeer for another week. How much longer could I endure these awful, sordid days? Each felt longer than the last.

Times of strife were looming over Black Marsh. The murders of Jeeral-Bex and Kianatepa at the festival of Xohn-Thiliul had brought tensions to the brink. They were two of the south's most influential organs, in Soulrest and Blackrose respectively, with strong ties to the An-Xileel. More to the matter, they were not the first of our people's leaders to die in recent months. Each killing was the same – a random time, a random place, quick and silent, without ceremony.

I had been involved in the efforts to track down those responsible, though these assassinations were not all that plagued us. Thefts of written records and ambushed couriers marred our investigations at every turn. The Dark Elves were not to blame – they could never operate in our borders this easily. Long before the events of the festival, I suspected the roots of this infection grew from within. Mahei-Ru and others among Archon's organism shared this feeling. There were traitors in our midst, sowing seeds of panic and discord among the An-Xileel. To what end I did not know.

Neither did I care. This would be _their_ problem to resolve – I would have no part in it. I was done with the An-Xileel. Milah and I were going to leave Black Marsh for good, without delay or regret. No one would be able to stop us. The only two Argonians in the entire east who could track me were Zollassa and Ixtha-Kai. They would both be at Helstrom, serving as bodyguards. I knew exactly how best to travel unseen, to stay hidden against all peering eyes. By the time a single soul were to catch on to our departure, the gap would too great to close. We needed only to wait a little longer. I was growing eager, impatient.

But I dared not act in reckless abandon. There remained something that would require great consideration and care.

I looked to the other side of the room. Against the wall was a nest woven out of hey and threaded string, set inside a wooden basket. It was crude and makeshift, but comfortable for its sole occupant – an Argonian egg, five months incubated. Its rough, speckled surface shone in the moonlight.

Truly a marvel… To think that within the small shell slept a creature coursing with saxhleel blood. My blood.

A breeze of chilling air blew down into the room. I became concerned. This was an unusually cold night. The egg might need warming. Normally midwives tend to eggs in clutches at the hatching pools. Milah knew enough that she could care for ours herself – she had begun instructing me how to do it as well. It was at times a much more complex ordeal than I expected.

I shuffled over and knelt down by the nest. Gathering a well of magicka in my hand, a soft orange glow shone forth, radiating warmth. I caressed the egg gently, trying to raise its temperature. Not all eggs are cared for with magic, but this one was privileged to have a healer for a mother. And a far less talented apprentice as a father.

So focused on maintaining my concentration, I only noticed Milah's presence as she walked over beside me.

"Be careful. You're not attuning the strength of the spell. You don't want to overheat the yolk, remember?" she said, "Here, let me do it."

"So you _are_ awake," I said, backing off to give my wife the room she needed.

"Why yes," she replied, "You wouldn't happen to know who I could thank for that, would you…?"

I averted my eyes, embarrassed.

"Sorry…"

Milah let out a sigh.

"If you thought to warm the egg, you should have tried harder to wake me. You're still not practiced enough to use your spell."

"I wanted to let you sleep. I managed this by myself last time, didn't I?"

"While I was watching carefully over your shoulder. I'd hardly call that 'by yourself.'"

I accepted defeat without another word. She was right. In my haste I could have made any number of errors. I was still far behind her level of skill. Casting restoration magic was nothing like using a weapon or surviving in the wilderness. Milah had proven herself a good teacher, but I was a slow student. Even in something as simple as egg tending, I faltered from novice mistakes. She glanced over at the glum look on my face.

"You know I appreciate the thought," Milah remarked, "But I'd rather be awake and angry than asleep while you cause an accident."

I gave a slight, crestfallen chuckle.

"I am not sure which of those is the lesser evil…"

"That's not funny."

"Neither is being on my end of the matter."

"What have I ever done to you for waking me up?"

I folded my arms.

"Hmm… Now isn't _that_ the question. What indeed…"

Milah threw me a dubious look.

"Are you guilt tripping me?"

A smirk rose on my face.

"No, but I'll be happy to if you want."

"Okan-Zeeus, don't you dare."

"Should I start with least or worst offense?"

"Oh, as though you have a list!"

"Remind me: didn't you once threaten to feed me to the swamp eels for stirring you out of bed…?"

Milah rolled her eyes and gave a playful shove, continuing to work on the egg.

"Yes. And I'll still do it, too. Will you let me finish?"

My dumb grin broadened to a smile.

"You had but to ask."

I sat quietly, watching the glow of my wife's magic play off the surface of her emerald scales. Her orange eyes were gleaming. Light filtered through the translucent fins on her head. She noticed I was staring.

I remained as bad at hiding my affections as when we first met. This is not to say that I tried to. I adored her. She had become so many things to me – a confidant, a lover, a trusted friend... Our times spent together were fleeting glimpses of the peace I hoped to one day know. Milah withdrew her spell and sat back.

"That should be enough for now," she said, "The sun will rise in a few hours."

"Good," was all I thought necessary to say.

There was a pause. We both regarded the egg, each dreaming our own dreams of its hatching. The life within this shell bristled with energy, eager to swim in new waters.

"I'm still amazed how quickly it's gotten so big," I said, "It won't be long before the egg tooth grows in."

"If he hasn't grown it already," Milah asserted.

I sighed, shaking my head. My wife insisted she knew what life phase the hatchling would take. I wasn't sure what brought on this assumption, nor did I encourage it. At times I thought Milah did it to tease me. She knew I wanted the opposite. My only hope was that she wouldn't be disappointed if her prediction proved wrong. This whole ordeal was already hard on her. Among Milah's tribe, many raised bitter objections at our decision to keep a hatchling separated from the Hist at birth. It is a grievous taboo among the saxhleel, more so in the east than in other regions of Black Marsh.

You see, the Hist are… well… it is difficult to describe to an outsider. Many disregard them as little more than trees. Simply know that the Hist gave my people their souls. They shaped us, formed us, gave us purpose. We depend on them, while they depend on us. It is symbiosis in the truest sense.

On that note, perhaps I should mention something else. In times past, the Hist have brought about protection from great harm. Before the Oblivion Crisis, they forewarned the saxhleel of Dagon's coming. Our people fearlessly drove back the daedra with this prescience. While other provinces suffered great loss, Black Marsh stood strong.

Yet now, the Hist remain _silent_ regarding the traitors in Black Marsh. Or at least, they are silent to most. Our Treeminders still hear their voices, but they refuse to share anything. Only in dire times have the Hist secluded their connection to a chosen few. It is almost unheard of. _All_ commune with the Hist. They speak to my people in visions, either through physical touch, through dreams, or even by consuming their sap. I have heard vivid descriptions of the link shared between Hist and Argonian.

I cannot testify to their truth, though. The trees have never spoken to me in all my life. All I know of them is second-hand…

But please, pardon me. I have said enough for now.

The two of us lingered in silence. My wife began to peer at me concernedly. She sensed something was amiss.

"You didn't wake up because of the egg, did you? What's wrong?" I tensed at the question.

"I am fine, Milah."

"You look tired. Are you still not sleeping?"

"There is much stressing me."

"I'm stressed too, but I'm getting good rest. You haven't slept soundly in days."

_I'll sleep soundly when I'm dead_…

"It is nothing more than a few bad dreams. You needn't worry yourself with me," I consoled as warmly as I could, giving a hopeful smile, "They will pass in time, I am sure of it."

Milah tried to smile in turn, but her expression still veiled deep worry. She had every reason to be concerned. My condition aside, the risks involved in our plan were great. If any opposition bore down on us, I would face the brunt of it. Worse yet, leaving now in light of recent events might paint suspicion upon me – perhaps even a target.

It would be all the same in any case, though. If I was to end my service to the An-Xileel, desertion or death were my only options. One cannot simply resign from an enlistment like mine. It is a life-long vocation.

"I know you're trying hard to be brave. There must be something that can help you rest. You need your strength," my wife insisted, "At least see an herbalist tomorrow. I'm sure Ah-Keeus or Onuja could make something for you."

I became irritated.

"I have no need for medicine."

"Something is causing these bad dreams."

"This isn't an ill of the body."

"Then what is it?"

My glare in response was firm.

"Milah, you know the work that I do! These dreams…"

I trailed off. Though I had the words to describe them, the nightmares were too horrid to speak of aloud. So often I would wonder if they were spirits sent to torment me, to see that I never forgot my deeds or the faces of the dead.

"…What I need now is to flee from Black Marsh and the An-Xileel, to leave this life behind! Only then can I truly be cured of this ailment."

"And if that isn't enough?"

"It will be."

"Husband…"

"It _will_ be! It has to!"

Milah withdrew her dispute, a nervous look on her face. My voice had nearly risen to a yell. I settled down, hanging my head contritely.

"Milah, it has to… I have to stop… I can't live this way anymore…!"

The years had bled me of my fortitude. I could no longer tell myself that the work I did was for the good of the Argonian people. The senseless pain, violence and carnage had to end. The An-Xileel may have made me an instrument of their will, but my soul could never truly thirst for blood, no matter how much it tasted. It was too gentle.

My wife understood this better than anyone. I doubt she would have wed me otherwise. Our eyes met. I wanted to apologize for my outburst, but before I could speak she drew close and nuzzled her forehead against mine. I held my tongue. Neither of us spoke for a time. It was enough to simply be in the presence of someone who cared.

"One more week," Milah eventually said, "That's all that's left. We have to keep our eyes down the river."

"I know. And I will," I replied, uplifted somewhat, "It will be a joy to finally start anew."

"Have you thought yet about where we're to go?" she asked, with slight excitement.

"…Should I assume you have?"

"How can I not? All of Tamriel is open to us! The forests of Valenwood, the coasts of Hammerfell, the mountains of Skyrim…"

"Us? Living in the mountains?" I frowned, "I can't picture that."

"But we could do it, couldn't we? It doesn't matter where we go."

I cast a sideways glace.

"As long as the people are friendly…"

"Healers are well met by most."

"That makes _you_ well met."

"And you, husband. You're always so hard on yourself, but you're learning so fast…" she assured, "We could open a practice together, you and I. Find a quiet village that will take us. The three of us. You would like that, wouldn't you?"

I grinned slightly, feeling oddly warm at the thought. To spend the rest of my days giving life instead of taking it…

"…I would like that very much," I answered softly.

We remained in each other's presence for a while longer. Milah stood up, her face now the one giving a hopeful smile.

"Come back to sleep. You have a long day tomorrow."

"I will… Just give me a moment. I need some time to myself."

My wife lingered, looking back at me as she returned to our bedroom. All became still. Moonlight no longer filled the room. I stared at the egg beside me, thinking troubled thoughts.

There was so much at stake here. More lives than my own depended on me. How could I let it come to this? Was I deluded to think I could live a normal life, that there would be no repercussions? I was putting my family in danger. I selfishly bore on them _my_ burdens. If securing their future meant laying down my life…

I would not fail. I refused to. This plan would succeed. My family would safely escape Black Marsh – with or without me.

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><p><strong>AUTHOR'S NOTE<strong>

There's a lot here that's lore established and a lot that's not. Let me break it down.

The notions of Argonian eggs being tended by magic, as well as the taboo of eggs kept from the hist, were both of my own imaging. 'Swamp eels' were another thing I made up. The festival mentioned and the great Xanmeer of Helstrom are also my ideas. Everything else, though, is all in TES lore. I hope I've done Argonian culture some justice in my portrayal.


	2. Arc 2 - Chapter 1

**~ CHAPTER 1 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

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><p>I walked a lonely path, minding the soil my feet would tread. Orange leaves blew away from birch trees in the whistling wind. <em>Autumn…? So soon?<em> I must have lost track of the seasons. My legs halted their gait. In the dimming blue sky, cumulous clouds flaunted their size. They floated across the sun like heaps of dark cotton lined with bright yellow trimming. Rays of light stretched out from behind. Geese flew through the air in v-formations, perfecting the picture of depth. I breathed in deep, feeling a chill rush through my lungs. Truly, the eastern Rift of Skyrim displayed its full splendor that evening.

I took what pleasure I could in the sight before resuming my trek. I hadn't the time to dally.

On approach to Lake Geir, the village of Ivarstead would arise into view. Balgruuf the Greater had spoken of it – a small settlement near the base of the Throat of the World. From there one could scale the mountain's icy slopes and ascend to its peak.

High Hrothgar, an ancient monastery, awaited those who braved the seven thousand steps. Several days ago, by all presumptions, I had been called to brave them…

~ooooo~

"That was hairiest fight I've ever been in," Irileth remarked as we paced down the road together, "And I've been in more than a few."

"This one could say the same," I muttered, ignoring the soreness in my limbs.

It was the eve of the dragon's assault. A thunderous sound had rung out from the mountains – a shout, calling "_Dovahkiin._" I returned to Whiterun with the Jarl's housecarl, Irileth. Fires flaring in the distant city died down as guardsmen and commoners alike kept dousing their remnants. In the cold stillness of the night, the clamor of battle still rang in my ears, faintly, like a whisper.

"The city will need to bolster its defense," the dark elf said, "There's no telling if or when this may happen again."

"Your fear is justified, though we may hope that the death of this dragon will deter others, at least for a time, " I mussed.

Silence befell us as we trod our path. This woman was as I – quiet, contemplative. She seemed lost in some deep thought. Her words later broke the silence and revealed what laid on her mind.

"I don't know anything about this Dragonborn business. But I'm glad you were with us today. Jarl Balgruuf will be pleased to hear about your victory."

I did not reply. After killing the wyrm, the housecarl's men proclaimed me to be 'Dragonborn,' a dragon slayer of old and mythic proportions. I refused to speak on the matter. Nordic flights of fancy were no concern of mine.

Eventually we arrived at the city gates, stepping into the refuge of walls once thought protective. The devastation was great. Wooden homes in Whiterun's poorer districts were sundered and charred. Most of the city's architecture was intact, but in great need of repair. Standing tall and strong beneath the stars, Jarl Balgruuf's palace, Dragonsreach, had endured well, showing the least of all visible damage. As Irileth and I meandered through the streets, guards ran to and fro, their torches flickering in the night like fireflies. My snout caught a whiff of blood. Mere hours ago, the commoners of this place were living out their day no different than their last. Now they sat along the streets, picking through the wreckage of their homes, mourning the losses of loved ones.

I felt terrible sadness at the sight of these people. They would recover, but the scars left behind were deep. Why did the dragon attack this city? What had it hoped to accomplish…?

The dark elf and I ascended the steps to Whiterun's Cloud District and entered the great hall of the Jarl's domain. Our footfalls echoed. Little had changed inside – perhaps a few books or bits of tableware had fallen to the floor – though the grand expanse of the chamber was barren of people. Even the Jarl's throne looked unattended. The palace was eerily calm. Proventus Avenicci, Balgruuf's steward, suddenly emerged from a basement passage, walking briskly to the eastern wing before catching sight of us.

"Oh, good! You're finally here!" he exclaimed, "The Jarl's been waiting for you."

The balding man motioned for us to follow. We began climbing a stairwell that lead to the palace's war room. Most of everyone still present had gathered there; the Jarl and his personal guard, among them his brother, Hrongar, a stout man wearing sleeveless leather armor laid with furs. I could hear Balgruuf speaking to him as we topped the flight of stairs.

"You heard the summons… what else could it mean?"

The sounds of boots upon stone declared our presence as we entered the room.

"Ah, we were just talking about you!" the Jarl's brother said to us, a smile on his knot bearded face.

"Excuse the delay." Irileth replied, some sarcasm in her stately voice, "We have our report."

Balfruuf stepped forward, eager to listen.

"What happened at the watchtower? Is the dragon dead?" he asked.

"It is, my Jarl. From what we saw, it destroyed the tower before attacking the city. There were no survivors, but at least now the dead can rest easy."

"So it's done then," the Jarl sighed with relief, "I knew I could count on you!"

"For once, _I_ had nothing to do with it. This Argonian slew the dragon single-handed before me or my men could arrive."

Irileth moved aside. The gazes of the Nords bore down on me, taken aback at this news. My irritation was questionably masked. I had no desire to be here, but the dark elf had insisted that I return with her to give my account of the dragon's death. Begrudgingly, I went along.

"Is this true?" the Jarl enquired.

"Yes," I said.

Balgruuf's forehead wrinkled.

"There must be more to the tale than that."

"There is. But I must ask first – how bad were the casualties here?"

The Jarl was caught off guard. Those were not the words he expected from me. Hrongar took some offense at my conduct. To him, perhaps, this was some unseemly act of beating about the bush.

"We have many injured, but only twelve deaths have come to our attention," Balgruuf said.

"Twelve…?" I replied.

"Not one in a dozen. Mostly our own guard," Proventus added, "Thank the divines! We could have lost a great many more."

"We'd have seen more losses in a skirmish with the Stormcloaks. The dragon proved its weakness today. So much for old legends," Hrongar scoffed.

"It still took twelve lives," I hissed, angrily.

There was a pause.

"How you choose to see the matter is your business," Balgruuf said to me, "Now tell me what's happened."

I thought through my response.

"…Even now I am unsure of what happened, exactly. Shortly after killing the dragon, one of your men began to call me 'Dragonborn.'"

The Jarl eyed me with sudden suspect.

"Dragonborn? What do _you_ know about the Dragonborn…?"

"Nothing. That is merely the title he gave. Should I assume you know more?"

Balgruuf stroked his long beard.

"I only know what the old tales tell of them. The Dragonborn were once great heroes. They would use the power of their voice to defeat the enemies of Skyirm. Wulfharth was Dragonborn. Talos too – the founder of the empire, back in the good old days."

At times I forgot that the Nords favored referring to Tiber Septim as Talos. Cyrodiilic religion dictates that Tiber ascended to the heavens and became Talos, the ninth divine. Or rather it used to, before Talos worship was outlawed.

"Why did the man call you this? What reason did he have?" the Jarl probed, still unsatisfied with my account.

Irileth came to the fore.

"When the dragon died, the Argonian absorbed some sort of power from it. A form of magic summoned by shouting," she said.

The dark elf was quick to mention the details I desired not to. It was childish thinking on my part, to hope I could steer the conversation away from me. Proventus showed some intrigue at this news. The Nords, meanwhile, looked as though their world had upturned. Balgruuf was especially stunned.

"Is this true? You can shout!?" he asked ardently. I could only shrug in response.

"…So it would seem."

"He knocked over a man with a single word," Irileth rejoined, eyeing me, "There were several witnesses. I have no doubt he could do it again, if he chose to."

"I do not plan to try here, if that is your concern," I said to her.

"Then the Greybeards… they were summoning _you_!" the Jarl expressed. I regarded his words quizzically.

"The Greybeards?"

"Masters of the Way of the Voice. They live in seclusion high atop the slopes of the Throat of the World."

My ignorance was painfully obvious. I let out a rasping sigh, scratching the feathers on my head.

"A thousand pardons… You will have to explain this in terms I may understand."

"The Dragonborn is said to be uniquely gifted in the voice," Balgruuf said, "The ability to focus your vital essence into a Thu'um – or shout."

Slowly I began piecing the puzzle together.

"And the Greybeards are masters of this… voice?"

Balgruuf nodded.

"In the old stories, the Greybeards would summon the Dragonborn for training. They're the only ones who follow the Way of the Voice anymore. They can teach you how to use your gift!"

The spines above my right brow arched up.

"You seem certain of all this."

Hrongar was quick to respond, fervently.

"Didn't you hear the thundering sound? The one calling '_Dovahkiin_?' That was the voice of the Greybeards summoning you to High Hrothgar! This hasn't happened in… centuries, at least!"

"He's right. I envy you this honor," Balgruuf said, smiling, "You'd better prepare for the journey to High Hrothgar. It's no small climb up the seven thousand steps."

I grimaced.

"The seven thousand… _what_?"

"I made the pilgrimage once. High Hrothgar is a very peaceful place. Very... disconnected from the troubles of this world."

Perhaps upon another day I would have found that description intriguing. But all I felt was frustration. An impatient scowl had crept upon my countenance.

"Have I no say in this matter…?" I hissed.

"If the Greybeards think you're Dragonborn, who are we to argue? This is sacred tradition."

"I did not willfully absorb the dragon's power. It happened of its own accord. The causer could have been the dragon, not I."

The Jarl's smile faded.

"Killing that dragon revealed something in you, and the Greybeards heard it. Their call was for your ears. Don't deny it. There's no refusing the summons of the Greybeards."

"Refusal is within my right."

Hrongar started fuming.

"Have you no respect? You would spit on the Greybeards' counsel!?" he exclaimed.

"I did not ask for their counsel," I sighed, "Leave me be. I have no quarrel with you."

"But why would–"

"The Argonian has made his stance clear, Hrongar," Irileth interrupted, "Your barking won't convince him of anything."

Balgruuf was ignoring the squabble, staring sternly at me. I stared back.

"This one does not wish to disrespect you or your people's traditions. But the choice to answer this summon is mine. I will need time to think on it first," I said.

After considering my response, the Jarl gave his.

"Very well. I trust you'll make the right judgment."

I turned away.

"Now, if there is nothing more…"

The Jarl rested his hand on a weapon on his belt.

"There is. You've yet to be rewarded."

I spun back.

"What?"

Balgruuf unholstered a fine steel axe, holding it against his side. I nearly reached for my own weapon reflexively, before realizing the Nord had no malice. He began walking to a nearby chest that sat on a shelf and pulled out a pair of two coin purses. They rattled in his hand as he came close to me.

"You've done much for me and my city. Retrieving the dragonstone, _slaying_ a dragon… Let it never be said that Jarl Balgruuf the Greater doesn't reward those deserving of it!"

The Nord stopped two feet's breadth from me and held out the gifts in his hands. I took them with much hesitation.

"By my right as Jarl, I name you Thane of Whiterun," Balgruuf declared, "It is the highest honor within my power to grant. Take this sum from our treasury, and this weapon to serve as your badge of office."

My reflection cast itself on the surface of the axe's blade, now held up in my hand.

"Thane? I do not know what that is."

Proventus filled in the gap.

"The Jarl has acknowledged you as a person of importance to the hold – a hero! The title of Thane is an invitation into the royal court," he said. Balgruuf continued.

"I have instructed Avenicci that you are now permitted to purchase property in the city. I'll also notify my guard of your new title. Wouldn't want them to think you're part of the common rabble, now would we?" He smiled proudly. "We are honored to have you as Thane of our city, Dragonborn."

First Xehtasken, now all of this. I could not tell if the Jarl was truly charitable, or merely trying to buy my favor. Either way, I would soon disappoint him. Refusing all of the Jarl's reward held the risk offending him, so I chose to keep the purses at least. Make no mistake; I do not cling to physical wealth for its sake. Money is valuable as a means to an end, nothing more. Death counts all treasures as loss, and we all must die someday.

Head hung in respect, eyes shut, I handed back the axe.

"You are generous. But I have no desire for land or title... I ask only for this: speak nothing of me to anyone. Live as though we never met. That is greatest service you can do for me now."

I looked upon the flummoxed Jarl, my gaze relaying the distresses of a dead man walking.

"Do not keep me further," I implored, "I wish to leave."

The Jarl stood still, before taking the weapon from my hand. His court watched in silence.

"…You know, I never once asked for you name," Balgruuf said.

"You have no need for it," I replied before walking away.

I felt the eyes of the group bead on my back. Heading back down the stairwell, through the great hall and out the door, I quietly left the confines of Dragonsreach. My tail swayed lethargically. From far behind, I heard the Jarl's voice one final time.

"Back to business, Proventus. We have a city to repair."

The nighttime air outside was frigid, no longer filled with pillars of smoke. Pacing along the dark, dimly lit roads of the Wind District, I kept my snout to the ground. A group of men and women gathered near the ruins of a building caught sight of me passing by. Hushed murmurs rose among them. I regarded them fleetingly and kept on my way, growling softly to myself. A woman in the darkness bumped into me. Her cloth and linen clothes were flecked with soot.

"Excuse me," I said, pushing past. The woman began to follow.

"…Hey! It's you!" she exclaimed, "You're the one who killed that dragon! Is it true what everyone says? Did you really fly through the air?"

_I don't have time for this…_

I glared back the woman angrily. She ceased to follow me, a slight look of fear in her eyes. Perhaps I had been too harsh. I kept on my way down to the plains district, passing through the marketplace. More people were pointing at me, gawking at the sight of the scalebacked hero that saved their city. One man started cheering. Snarling softly in discontent, I threw over my hood.

_No more… Stop this, please…! _

"You there! Argonian!" another man called out. It was one of the guardsmen. Hot light from his torch flared against my face as he walked along side me. "There's been talk amongst the guards. That you are… Dragonborn. But such a thing… surely that's not possible, is it?"

"I have nothing to say to you!" I snapped at him, "Leave me be!"

I broke away from the Nord, pressing through the large wooden gates of Whiterun, and slinked off into the dark of night, cursing the ill fate wrought upon me.

* * *

><p>Evening faded to dusk. Ivarstead's lodgings peeked above the fiery leafed forest. The village was not far, just north of my position. Smolder from chimneys promised warmth and food for those passing through. I arrived at a roadway fork and perused the cluster of wooden arrows nailed upon a sign post. Each carved out name read aloud in my mind. <em>Ivarstead. Riften. Whiterun. Helgen<em>…

Feeling the wind blow against my body, I stood at rest and reflected in silence. On that fateful night in Whiterun, defeat had overwhelmed me. There was no one to blame but myself. _I_ followed the carriages to Helgen. _I_ warned the Jarl of the black dragon's attack. _I_ set in motion all that was happening to me. My death had been sealed by my own hands.

None could fathom my struggles – the years spent running, never resting my head. Time and again I eluded the An-Xileel, like a bird escaping a fouler's snare. I thought I could outsmart them. Months were spent preparing for the journey to Skyrim. I erased my trail completely. No one was to know that I came here.

That was over now... I killed a dragon. I saved an entire city. Word of my deed would spread _far_. My efforts to travel north unfollowed were ashes in the wind. The An-Xileel would have all the tracks they needed to find me. I knew their tenacity. How long did I have? Weeks? Days?

And what of these 'Greybeards?' What of me? Was I truly what the Nords claimed me to be? Dragonborn…?

…No. I refused to believe it.

My heart felt pained and heavy. The hatchling I once was would have wallowed in tears under such immense stress as this. Whatever I had become since then was not so feeble, if nothing else. My resolve was all I had left – the will to honor those who gave me my freedom, to keep old promises. Everywhere I went, I found reasons to fight. To act. To do what I thought was just.

But it was foolish to think I could go on without tiring. I am no warrior who revels in the thrill of combat. I despise conflict. Yet in spite of this, the world was not ready for my resignation. It demanded more of me. I was to become this… _Dragonborn._ Why? Had I not lived through enough? Was I to face hardships unending? To die sword in hand, a killer to my last days?

Glancing at the village of Ivarstead one last time, I turned away and continued east.

All I wanted was for the world to leave me in peace…


	3. Arc 2 - Chapter 2

**~ CHAPTER 2 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

><p>I strummed a claw across the bristles of my arrow's fletching. If there's one thing I normally hate about highway robberies, it's the waiting time. Having to loaf around for minutes or hours on end between passersby. But we'd been waiting with a purpose; the caravan was on a tight schedule and it wouldn't dare be late. In fact, it came right on time. There's some fun in anticipation. It's like seeing a wrapped present with your name on it. You can't wait to get what's inside.<p>

"I see the cart down the road. It's coming this way," I whispered down the rocks to the ground below me. A fellow thief was crouching behind a snow buried bush. His outfit matched mine – russet leather armor, brimming with pockets, pouches, and bags, along with a hood and furred snow gear. Standard guild attire. These thieves knew how to dress for work, I'll give them that much.

"Remember, let these guys make the first move. Try to give 'em a good scare, eh?" Thrynn whispered in turn.

"I'll do my part if you do yours," I hissed back.

The four of us were poised near the mouth of a mountain pass. Flanking the road on both sides, crags funneled the path behind like a deep ravine. A wintery pine valley flowed out in front. We were divided two on each side – Thrynn below, Vex and Niruin across. I was nestled in a wedge high up on a slope, brushing against cold, white powdered snow. The vantage point hid me from eyes below, though my footing wasn't great. I'd make do either way; I could still shoot. If anything was going to hamper my aim, the burn on my shoulder would. It felt crusty and stiff beneath my clothes, still painful as ever. Damned thing.

Above, the skies were packed with grey, hazy clouds. I wondered if dragons could fly high enough to hide behind them. Wasn't a stretch to think they might be roaming the region. We were near the Jerall mountains, but not technically in Skyrim. The White Gold Tower's silhouette was on the far horizon. This was the wilderness frontier of Cyrodiil; an off-beaten trail, several miles away from the Silver Road north of Bruma. I hadn't expected to come back so soon, though it didn't feel like I was home. Still way too much snow.

The Thieves' Guild had been prepping for this heist around the day I joined up with them. Good timing, too – they needed another archer. Brynjolf wasn't ready for me to tackle _official_ assignments and Vex would've had me stay in the sewers, but I managed to argue my case with no slight finesse. I can be very persuasive when I need to be. Besides, they were lucky to have me. I proved better with a bow than plenty of the guild's long standing members. I'll admit it was a little tough finding the nerve to travel again, knowing dragons roamed free, but the thought of cowering in Riften till my scales turned leathery was all the motivation I needed.

Niruin was set up high on a flank opposite to me. He started readying his bow. I grabbed mine leaning against the rocks and did the same.

Three men were with the caravan: two steered the carriage, while the other was a horse mounted guard, a sellsword from the looks of it. There was nothing peculiar about their clothing – just fur and cloth garbs to keep out the cold. As they rode into our trap, I regarded the load in their carriage confusingly. It looked like a pile of long beams covered over with a tarp. Were they disguising the shipment? Didn't seem _too_ far-fetched, all things considered, but still… something was odd.

Thrynn set the plan in motion. He stumbled out into the road right in front of the caravan, acting the part of a drunk, empty bottle in hand. The drawing horses came to halt as the riders exclaimed their surprise. Thrynn pretended to fall over and shuffled back on his feet, spitting curses at the men. It was a clever ploy, though far from flawless. If you stopped to think about it, you'd realize that no one would actually be drinking out here in the mountains – a good reason to be suspicious. But the point wasn't for Thrynn to be convincing. All we needed was to take the men by surprise. And buy Vex the time she needed.

The caravan guard dismounted and came forward. He wasn't buying the act. He drew his sword and demanded that Thrynn step aside. A shadowy figure appeared from behind. Vex had snuck out of sight around the side of the carriage; before the riders could spot her, she was at the sellsword's back and quickly disarmed him. Thrynn jumped in and seized the man, overpowering him handily. They say the Nord used to be a marauder with some bandit clan in the Pale. He had more meat on his bones than most.

Things picked up. The riders jumped down from their seats, kicking up snow as they brandished weapons, ready to fight in defense of the guard. That was our cue. Niruin and I rose from our hiding spots and took aim.

"Eyes up, boys! That's far enough!" Niruin called out.

The riders whipped their attention to the snowy rocks above and froze at the sight of our ambush. Vex reigned in the guard's timid horse and calmed it down, before walking slowly back and forth across the front of the carriage, carrying the sword she'd disarmed. Thrynn kept the caravan guard pinned down in the slush.

"I don't think I need to tell you you're outnumbered," she spoke coolly, before her voice became sharp like the crack of a whip. "Drop your weapons and face the cart."

Reduced to dogs on a leash, the riders obeyed. Vex bound their hands. I smiled to myself, thoroughly impressed. These guild thieves were efficient! In minutes the caravan was at our mercy. The plan was off to a rousing start. Vex looked up to me.

"New girl, get down here. Check the goods. Make sure everything's in order," she said.

I passed a sideways glance to Niruin. He nodded, keeping his bow pointed downward. The wood elf could handle the men if they tried anything. Better for him to keep to the crags than me; my aim wouldn't compare to his. He was a much better talent.

For some reason Bosmer and bows go together like forks and knives. Stereotype my ass – I knew an awful lot of folks who'd been trained in archery by wood elves. They must make a big deal of it in Valenwood. Tsariba got taught by one, now that I think of it. She's the one who trained _me_. That Khajiit was a damn good shot. Fast too. If she could nock and loose an arrow in three seconds, she'd tell you she was having an off day. Her feline reflexes were a sight to behold, climbing rooftops or slinking past guard patrols. She couldn't dodge the sword that killed her, but I'm pretty sure she'd have brushed it off and boasted the tale later if she had. You know, to add to her 'legend.' Tsariba was the kind of person who could walk in a room and just… _radiate_. Like sunshine. Always spry and lively.

Most people like that annoy the crap out of me, but I made an exception for her. We used to get along well. I miss that cat's vim.

Descending the slick rocks, I touched down on the ground and searched for a way to remove the carriage's tarp. It was fastened by ropes. I picked a knot and started cutting with my knife. One of the riders was nearby. Vex came over to keep an eye on him.

"What in Oblivion do you want with us!? We ain't got nothing worth stealing!" the rider on the other side cried out.

"Shut up. We'll be the ones deciding that," Vex growled.

"Damned thieves… You think you can take whatever you want," the man nearby swore.

"You're welcome to try and stop us," I chided, finishing one rope before moving to the next. The rider spat on the ground.

"Oh, just you wait, boot," he said, "You'll get yours! I've got friends in the Legion. They're gonna' hear about this!"

I stopped cutting and looked over at the furious man, grinning in amusement.

"Good for you," I chirped, giving him a pat on the head. Every now and then I'd catch myself acting like _she_ used to. I swear some part of that cat rubbed off on me.

A few final swashes of my blade and the rope came undone. Eagerly, I pulled over the tarp to inspect the shipment beneath. My claws tapped on hard wood. I could hardly believe my eyes.

"Is this a joke!?" I snapped, turning to Vex, "What am I looking at!?"

"Huh? What are you on about?" the woman groaned. She quickly came over beside me and beheld the carriage's contents. I honestly thought she'd lose it. You could _feel_ the outrage boiling up inside her, waiting for an excuse to burst.

"Delvin, that stupid son of a bitch…!" she hissed.

* * *

><p>Delvin Mallory was one of the Thieves Guild's oldest and valued members, equal in stature to Vex and Brynjolf. They were leaders without formal title. The guild's concept of hierarchy is mostly built around performance – folks who bring in the most coin get to lead if they want to. Only the guildmaster has any official stature. Fences too, I guess, but that's just because they're fences.<p>

To cut a long story short, Delvin screwed us over. Our group returned to Riften after some days of travel, pissed and empty handed. From outside the walls, we took a hidden route that led to the city's underground sewers – the Ratway. That's where the guild keeps its base of operations. Their methods involve secrecy and discretion, as Brynjolf would tell you, hence the need for their… we'll call it 'locale.' Honest shit? The place is a dump. A charming kind of dump, but still a dump all the same. It's a dark and dank alcove where the thieves of Skyrim find safe haven.

From what I've been told, it used to be a city beneath the city. All sorts of seedy folks and merchants would crowd its canals and waterways. It was easy enough to imagine; the sewer system is massive, practically a labyrinth. But the Ratway was nearly barren now. You'd be lucky to trip on a skeever.

After winding our way through the rank sewer tunnels, we arrived at the Ragged Flagon, a tavern built inside a cistern. I'd guess it the last remnant of their so-called city. It serves as a checkpoint and lookout for the guild's inner chambers; most of their muscle can be found loitering around. Slimy, stone brick walls vault up in a dome to the pipe of a boarded well, with a large circular pool siting below, fringed with outer walkways. The tavern itself is on one far end, with a wooden structure built partially over the water like a pier to make extra space for seats and tables. They keep a furnace and plenty of candles lit. Any more sparse light filters down from above. It's scenic in its own disgusting way. No one from the surface comes down to the Flagon for spirits, though – just members of the guild.

Vex stormed over to the old Breton's table and slammed her hands on it, her long platinum hair falling down over her face.

"Delvin, that shipment on the Cyrodiil frontier was worthless!" she barked. The old codger nearly fell out of his seat. I think he was nodding off. He returned a blank, incredulous stare.

"That's impossible," he said, "I distinctly heard that lout in the tavern say it was a full shipment of furs. They should be worth a fortune."

I groaned, rubbing the scales on my snout. _So _that's_ what went wrong, _I thought to myself. Vex was livid.

"You idiot! He meant fir_ trees_, not animal furs! It was a damn _logging_ caravan!"

Delvin's eyes grew wide with embarrassment. He caught the angry stares of Thrynn and Niruin close by.

"Oh my… Umm… you won't let the boss hear about this, will you?" The man cleared his throat, eyes darting off. Vex let out a sigh and turned back to the three of us.

"You all go do whatever you want," she said, glaring back again at Delvin. "_You're _coming with me. Right now."

Not one to incur Vex's wrath, Delvin followed the woman down a further passage to the inner guild hall. I sat down in one of the Tavern's crude wooden seats, unslinging my bow and resting it against the table. Its dark wood looked oily in the lamp-light. I'd have to return the bow in short order – it was a loan from the guild. I still couldn't afford one for myself.

"I was hoping for a little more closure than that," Niruin muttered.

"Vex'll chew Delvin out. Nothin' for us to do but get back to business," Thrynn replied. Niruin stretched his arms lazily.

"Business can wait," he yawned, "I'm signing off for the night." The wood elf made for the guild's living chambers.

"Bah… I'm too pissed off to sleep," Thrynn said, before glancing my way, "Thinkin' I might go knock some heads up top. You interested?"

_As if… _

"I'll pass," I said.

The Nord shrugged and went on his way. Heaving a frustrated sigh, I laid my head on the table, arms crossed beneath my chin. Lisaa sure did a bang-up job touting this place. How nice of her not to mention the guild's late streak of _terrible luck_. I almost wished I'd stayed back in Cyrodiil, though I had my doubts that would've made a difference. By this point, I was ready to accept my part in some cosmic prank. It didn't matter where I went. I couldn't find a single band of thieves that wasn't riddled with incompetence or mediocrity somehow. Nothing ever went right.

_If you see something wrong…_

Damn it all. Even now, years later, my mother harps on. Her old lessons and proverbs were drilled into my head. I always imagine myself at home again, arguing with her.

_…take control…_

Why tell me this? Isn't that what I've been _doing!?_ I've been searching for two years to find a group I can settle with! My career as a thief is all I have! It's all I've ever had to rely on! You think I _want _to be this? Don't preach to me about opportunity and society! I'm told to come inside, but nobody opens their door! The world doesn't care how starving you are or how many friends you've lost. It expects you to _get by_. And it doesn't care how.

_…before control gets taken from you._

Is this guild somehow my responsibility? Am I supposed to be the one to fix their problems? To Oblivion with that – I can't. I can't even fix my own… Even back then… I couldn't…

"Bad break, lass?" a voice suddenly spoke nearby. Brynjolf's. Somehow he always caught me in my worst moods.

"Oh, of course not," I hissed, not bothering to acknowledge the man, "I've always dreamed of building a log cabin."

"We'll set things straight with Delvin. That old man should have known better," Brynjolf scoffed.

I sat up straight in my seat, eyeing the red-headed Nord.

"You know, when you told me this guild was hitting a 'rough patch,' I wasn't picturing a sinking ship," I said.

"Barely a few days in and that's your picture?" Brynjolf did not look pleased.

"Oh I'm sorry, should I be seeing rainbows?"

"Maybe you'd rather keep bellyaching like a child. This organization is far from dying, I can promise you that."

"Daedra and Divines, just look at this place! Your guild's got all kinds of skill and talent**,** but _nothing_ to show for it. Just what kind of operation are you running here?"

"One that's going to come around again," Brynjolf said, softening somewhat, "Look lass, this wasn't the first impression I hoped to give. How about we try something different tomorrow?"

"Different how?" I asked.

"We happen to have a few deadbeats here in Riften. They owe our organization some serious coin, and they've decided not to pay. How would you like to… explain to them the error of their ways?" I sat up straighter.

"…Seriously? Are you asking me to be some kind of debt collector?" I rolled my eyes. "We're thieves, dammit! Whatever happened to secrecy or discretion? If they won't give us the money, why not go and take it from them?"

Brynjolf glared at me. His patience was far past the point of being tested. I had to get a hold of my tongue. He was right – I _was_ bellyaching like a child.

"Look, I know when I'm being bitchy, okay…?" I sighed, "I don't mean anything by it. Could you just explain why we need to do this?" Brynjolf folded his arms.

"Honestly, the debt is secondary here," he said, "What's more important is that we get the message across that we aren't to be ignored."

"So it's a control tactic, then."

"Exactly."

I could see why a guild of thieves might need that. They weren't going to get very far on good looks and a charming personality. Still, debt collecting? That felt a little brutish.

"Who are the marks?" I asked.

"Bersi Honey-Hand, Haelga, and Keerava," Brynjolf replied, "Familiar with them?"

_Keerava…?_

"Yeah… I know who they are." Bersi was a small-time salesman. He prays a lot in the temple of Mara, mostly for Riften's corruption to go away. Haelga owned a boarding house. I learned from certain circles that she's a practitioner of the Dibellan arts – which is really just to say she whores around. As for Keerava…

"How much do they owe?"

"Four hundred each. They know their numbers. You'll get a fair cut for doing this, lass, don't worry."

_Four hundred? Damn… That's more than I would have guessed._

"Method?"

"Up to you. So long as nobody gets killed."

"Right… Bad for business..."

"You've got yourself a silver tongue and a fair bit of wit, lass. I'm confident you'll figure it out."

I stood up from my seat, brushing a bit of dirt off my tail.

"Fine. I'll do it," I said, "Give me a day to two. I'll need to talk to some people."

Brynjolf nodded, walking away the guild's inner chamber. "You know where to find me when the job's done."

And that was that. From lumber thieving to debt collecting. I decided I'd had enough of the Ratway for one evening. After a change of clothes, I made for the quickest exit – a secret entrance in Riften's graveyard. The night was still young, but the trip back from Cyrodiil left me tired. I actually found myself missing the bed I had at the Bee and Barb. Slowly, I wound my way there through the city streets. A drink and a good night's sleep sounded pretty good.

How was Keerava tied up in all this debt business? Why did she owe the guild money? Dammit, she and Talen were already hard pressed! The other two deadbeats weren't well-off either, though. Nobody was. This guild didn't play favorites. They just took what they wanted from who they wanted to. It was all about power and money.

I actually harbored a hope that coming to Riften would put things the way they used to be. Turn the clock back two years. But these thieves weren't the same. What was I expecting? You can't just go and replace all the people you ever cared about. I could never find another Tsariba, or Mindil, or Livia, or even that bastard Barnaxi. I had something with them… A better life. I was never going to get that back. It was high time I accepted my lot and moved on.

Bersi and Haelga. Those two were going to get the short end of this stick. The caravan heist failed and I still had plenty of expenses to pay. I decided I'd get the money from them, one way or another. But not from Keerava. Not Talen. They put a roof over my head after I'd lost everything. I owed them a debt, and I always repay my debts.

I would find another way to get the money for them. Somehow.


	4. Arc 2 - Chapter 3

**~ CHAPTER 3 ~**

_Chases-The-Wind_

* * *

><p>Morning meditation. One of the many habits I still keep from my younger days. More out of necessity, than anything. If the body is not kept in shape, it becomes frail. The mind is like this too. It must be kept from growing dull. Some meditate to cleanse themselves of thoughts and stresses, to exercise mental control, to simply <em>be<em>. I do it to preserve my sanity. Try learning to live in constant threat of death, with the dead and dying as your only true companions. Then do it for the time that I have.

You will see. Ten years is a long time. Long enough to make a man rot.

Sitting cross-legged in the muck, eyes closed, I could not settle myself, despite all attempts. My mind refused to calm. The events of the past days had shaken me into a restless state.

I thought of the dragon I killed in Whiterun. The thrill of battling it had brought a strange sort of euphoria, the likes of which I'd never experienced. It was as though every other being I ever fought before was somehow inadequate by comparison… Unworthy. Fighting that dragon, Mirmulnir (I knew its name from its memories), stirred something in me. Something bellicose, aggressive. In the end I killed that dragon out of a sense of raw desire more than a sense of duty. I am no stranger to violence, but this frightened even me.

I relived that night in my mind over and over. Each time I heard the voice of my thu'um. I heard the call of the Graybeards from High Hrothgar. But more than anything, I heard the words that were spoken to me in the midst of the dragon's memory. Menacing, ominous... What was I to make of them?

_Duaan los him nunon dez… _

Devoured is your only fate.

I opened my eyes, peering out into the murkiness. A small school of longfins swam by into the sea grass, ignoring me as though I were a stone in the mud. Crawfish skimmed the floor for food. I filtered the sights through translucent, nictitating membranes. The creatures in this lake were certainly not at rest. They kept themselves busy. Perhaps today was a day to join them in this... Anything to distract me from myself. I could meditate later. I filtered a gillful of water and pushed off of the lake bed with webbed feet, towards the surface.

Daylight flared, consuming my vision. I adjusted my eyes to the colors of the forest and swam ashore. A pair of turtles sunbathing on a log retreated into the water as I walked past, dripping wet. The gentle morning breeze became bitter cold against my moistened scales. My body shivered disapprovingly.

_Waxuuthi... I will never grow used to this climate._

After a quick redress and gathering of my supplies, I continued on through the autumn forests of the Rift. The lake widened into a river heading east. I decided to follow it from further inland. My final destination remained unchanged – Solstheim. Getting there from Skyirm's coast had been my intention from the beginning. Even with the events at Whiterun potentially ruining my plans, there was still a chance of success. I had to take it. I would wind upward to the city of Windhelm and attempt to reach the island by trade vessel. It would not be the first time I ever stowed away on a ship, though the first time I wouldn't have to kill anyone aboard. A thing to be thankful for.

Solstheim was Morrowind territory, home to a small, quiet settlement of Dark Elves. I remained doubtful that they would accept me into their community, even if I proved my usefulness. Strong is the bitter hatred between their kind and mine. But if rejected, at least on the island I might finally be left alone – too far from civilization to be bothered by people. There would be no one for me to help anymore, but no one for me to harm. A state of pure neutrality. Peace. I would be out of the way and eventually forgotten.

No… Pardon me. I speak without thinking. I would be remembered in Black Marsh. Vilified. My legacy should become a story told to frighten children. Okan-Zeeus the mad traitor. An enemy to the Argonian people and the great An-Xileel. The very thing hatchlings would be raised to not become.

They would leave out the part where Okan-Zeeus was _driven_ mad by doing all that the An-Xileel told him to do. That he lost his life and everything he held dear because he followed orders. But that would ruin the story's charm, would it not?

No one wants a sympathetic villain.

My mind felt like a mudslide. The more I tried to stop brooding, the deeper my depression sank. Sounds of leaves crunching beneath my feet became a monotonous white-noise, filling the space between thoughts in my mind's ear. I stopped paying attention to where I was walking. Beneath the beautiful azure sky and vibrant forest canopy, my senses no longer registered.

_What are you doing with yourself? Is this truly the river you're meant to swim? You cannot ignore what's happened to you, what's happening around you. These dragons are a threat to all…_

This went on for a while. Too long.

"Hello? Who's there?" someone asked.

I snapped out of my trance.

Standing some ways away from me in a clearing was a Nord boy. He looked to be thirteen years of age, give or take, with a mop of brown hair and simple clothes. He was pulling along a cluster of small-sized logs, freshly cut from a copse of trees. They hung beneath a high-wheeled skidder.

I could not hide myself fast enough before he saw me. The boy startled, throwing off the skidder's rope harness.

"Stay back! You'd better not be here to make trouble!" he uttered with nervous defiance, brandishing a woodcutting axe, "I'll fight you if I have to!" I gawked at the boy. _Curse it all…! How could I have been so careless?_ Had I been minding my surroundings, I would have noticed him much earlier.

"Calm yourself," I said, hands held out yieldingly, "I am not here to hurt you." I kept a wide-eyed expression on my face, lest my reptilian features accidentally express hostility. "I'm a nomad, passing through these lands. You have nothing to fear from me. What is your name?"

No response. The boy remained tense.

"…That's a lot of logs you're trying to pull," I said, sheepishly.

"You're not taking any of them," the boy replied.

"I had no intentions to."

"They're for our mill…"

"Young one, I am not here to steal from you," I insisted, "If I had truly wanted to, I would have done so already."

The boy did not dare avert his eyes. He had every right to be wary of me. I was unsure what reputation Argonians had in this region, but my appearance could certainly be mistaken for a marauder, or perhaps a mercenary.

"Who are you?" the boy asked.

"A nomad, as I said before."

"I mean what are you called?"

I refused to answer, curling the end of my tail apologetically. Force of habit. Land striders never notice such things.

"You asked me for _my _name," he said, annoyed.

"And you did not tell it to me."

There was a pause.

"We can always skip introductions," I sighed, admiring the loaded skidder, "You look like you have been pulling those logs for some time."

"Not _that _long…" he replied.

"How much further do you have to go?" I asked.

"Just down to the river."

My brow furrowed. "That's still a good distance from here, isn't it?"

The boy looked at the ground. His tired posture answered 'yes.' I felt some pity for the young Nord. Did he cut down all of those trees by himself? How long did that take?

"Excuse my bluntness… But perhaps this one can be of help. I would not mind pulling that contraption for you."

The young Nord perked up. "Really?"

"Of course. I see no reason why not."

"I… I don't know…"

"You do not trust me. For good reason," I sighed, smiling, "Maybe we can come to an arrangement." The boy regarded me nervously as I reached for the scabbard strap on my belt. I held up Xehtasken in its sheath. "How about this? I pull your wood, and you carry my sword. If I try anything, you'll be able to defend yourself. Does that seem fair?"

"You'd give me your sword?"

"I would _loan _it to you. It is probably worth more than those logs of yours."

There was a glimmer of excitement in the boy's eyes that quickly went away. He became thoughtful, indecisive. It goes without saying, perhaps, but this was a hollow gesture of goodwill. Even without Xehtasken, or any of my weapons, the boy would never be able to defend himself against me. The thought of how easily I could kill him left me sick.

"You are free to refuse my help," I said, "I will leave without another word."

"No… I _do_ want the help," the boy groaned.

"Xhu. Then let us be on our way."

I walked over to the boy and handed him my weapon. He took the blade from my hands, surprised at its weight. I gave a testing tug on the skidder's harness before throwing it over my chest. Oddly enough it was fit for a person. To my knowledge, this sort of work is usually carried out by horses.

"Lead. I will follow," I said.

The boy nodded, pointing. "The mill's this way."

And so I trailed behind the young Nord, deferring to his direction. Pulling the skidder was arduous labor. Yet it felt _good_. Surprisingly good. I was putting my mind toward a single, simple task… legs plodding along, one in front of the other, moving against the logs' resistance. Footsteps that had been mere noise before became a steady, soothing rhythm. All the worries clouding me seemed distant. The physical exertion was clearing my head.

I relished moments like these. I could never tell if I made progress eluding the An-Xileel's pursuit. The fruits of my efforts were never clear until another blade was at my throat. Yet with this, I could see where I had come from and where I was going. A clear objective and a certain result. No questions. No complications. Just _action_.

But by the Hist… That skidder…

"This is quite heavy," I grunted, becoming visibly tired. Either I sorely overestimated my endurance, or this boy underestimated his. I must honestly admit I wanted to believe the latter.

"You offered to help," he shrugged.

"Indeed I did… I would have given it more thought had I known better," I chuckled, glancing at him, "Do you normally cut this many logs at once? So far from the river bank?"

"They're elms. My mother got an order for elm wood yesterday. Right when we ran out."

"Hmm... Mother, you say? Who else works the mill with you?"

"It's just us," the boy said dispiritedly.

"No other relatives? Hired workers?"

"No. My father used to work, but he's gone."

"Gone…?"

"We don't know what happened to him."

"I see..."

The boy wore his tired look again. I had wondered why he was out pulling all of these logs by himself. He was filling the role of his absent father, lumberjacking alone… a hard responsibility for one so young. This harsh world has harbored many in similar straits. I found myself pondering about this father, and what circumstance would bring him to abandon his family. _As though you are one to judge, _I thought to myself bitterly.

A clearing in the forest opened up, ground speckled with tree stumps. In the distance stood the lumber mill built by the riverside, just like the one in Riverwood, with water frisking on its wheel. A cobbled stone house rested further inland. Tending to a pen of chickens was a bright haired woman wearing men's work clothes.

"Gralnach!" she called out, noticing our arrival, "Who's this you've brought with you?"

"Fair tidings, land strider," I called in turn, coming close enough to speak in normal tones, "Forgive my intrusion. I offered to help with your son's work." I heaved off the rope harness, panting.

"Forgive you? I would _pay_ you if I had the coin to spare," the boy's mother replied in a thick northern accent. I waved her comment aside.

"That's quite alright, but I appreciate the thought."

The woman began inspecting the skidder's load. Gralnach followed her eyes.

"These were the only ones I could chop down. I know they're young," the boy said, concernedly, "Will they be enough?"

"Barely," she muttered, "We will make do with this."

"I can start cutting, then?"

"There's a large pile at the northern stand that needs finishing first. Go get started on that. We have a long day ahead of us."

The young Nord started off. I beckoned him back. "Hold, there! I believe you still have something of mine!" The boy grimaced, realizing he was carrying my sword. He turned around and handed Xehtasken back to me, before going on his way to begin his next task. I glanced over at the woman. There were heavy bags beneath her eyes.

"Keeping your son busy?" I remarked, re-strapping my sheath.

"Gralnach is soon to be a man," she huffed, "It's time he learns how a man has to work."

"And what of yourself…?"

"Day by day, lizard," she sighed, "Name's Grosta. Thank you again for helping my boy. It might go to his head, but I'm glad his day will be a little easier."

I nodded. "Your son told me about this place. You two are the only ones here?"

Grosta glanced over at a woman by the house, wearing leather mail with purple cloth. A guard from the city of Riften. She was watching us idly.

"But you are the only _workers_," I said.

"Aye."

"How long have you been running this mill with only you and your son?"

"Long enough to know we're worn to the bone," the woman replied, giving a sarcastic smile. The more I looked at her, the more tired she seemed. Just like the boy. They were both badly overworked.

"Do you think you can _keep_ running this mill?"

Grosta lingered on her response, before something finally caved. She frowned angrily. "No. It's damn near impossible. We're having trouble making ends meet. At this rate we won't last more than a few seasons."

"Then what…?"

Grosta shook her head.

"By Ysmir, I don't know. We'll just have to sell this old place. Try to find another line of work that can keep us alive."

I could hear the plea in her words, buried beneath a façade of sour determination.

"Your son told me that your husband disappeared…"

The woman was quick to jeer. "Ha! He's the bastard responsible for all this. I never want to see his ugly face again."

"Sounds as though there's more to this story," I said.

Grosta walked over to a small vegetable garden beside her house, grabbing a wood-shaft hoe rested against its wall. She was quick to divulge the details of her predicament. I wondered if anyone had ever taken the time to hear her out.

"It happened a month ago," she began, "Liefnarr said he was going east towards the border of Morrowind to trade some of our wood and grain..."

"…And he never came back," I finished for her. She spat on the ground.

"I've waited and waited. Probably shacked up with some elven whore. Good riddance to him, I say."

"You don't think something else might have happened to him?"

"Men are pigs. They all want the same thing," the woman protested, insensitive to the 'man' standing before her. I ignored the implication. "Anyway, what can I do? I can't leave the mill, and the guards won't bother themselves searching the whole east for one lousy man. If only I knew where he was… I'd give him a piece of my mind."

"These people he went to trade with… Who were they?" I inquired.

Grosta let out huff. "He said that some men had been stopping by local mills and farms, promising high prices for goods. They'd pay double what we'd get at the markets."

"Were these men credible? What did they need the goods for?"

"I don't even know if they were real! I'm sure it was some clever ruse Leifnarr came up with. Gave the man an excuse to leave with a large stock of our supplies. It only worsened our setbacks." I watched the woman as she tilled the soil of her garden, sweating beneath the heat of the sun and her own exertions.

"Did your husband mention any names? Locations?" I inquired. The woman planted her tool in the ground and held my gaze.

"The traders were staying in a place called Broken Helm Hollow. I'd never heard of it. All I know is that it's somewhere along the Velothi mountains, on the path to Windhelm."

"Heading north…?" I said with some surprise, tail swaying gently. I would travel that route on the way to Windhelm.

I lingered on my next words. My heart told me to go and search for her husband. It was along the path I planned to take – surely I could do this small thing? But I remembered my decision to leave Ivarstead behind. I was going to Solstheim for a reason.

One who bears death has no place among the living.

This was not the time for distractions. I would not involve myself further…

_…And abandon everything I stand for…? _

A cold truth whispered in my thoughts, still and small but sharp as a sword. I promised long ago to be a wind of change for the people in this world. It was my final act of defiance toward the An-Xileel. I was tired and weary of this life, giving every reason why I needed to leave Tamriel behind. But my resolve still held strong, refusing to let go. It was my hope. The reason I still lived.

_This woman has had no relief since her husband disappeared. You see it in her eyes, Okan-Zeeus. You know what that feels like, to be trapped by your circumstances. To think that no end will come. How can you walk away knowing that you could have done something for her?_

My mind slowly began to slide away.

_How many lives ended so that you could have your freedom? Is this how you repay them?_

I broke past the melancholy.

_Enough. Time to think is time to act._

"Would it be of any help to you if I visited this Broken Helm Hollow?" I asked.

Grosta turned and glared at me, puzzled.

"You would do that?"

"Of course. It is the least of all things I can do," I said, hatching an idea, "I will write back to you what I find. The letter will not be signed, but you will know it came from me."

"It wasn't enough to help my son, was it…? You care this much, lizard?"

"I care enough."

"But why?"

I smiled at her with my confusing, Argonian grin. "I am a wanderer. One who drifts, like a leaf in the river's flow. I see the things that people endure. Their struggles and hardships. I see them, even when others do not. And I have never been one for standing idly by."

Grosta did not speak her thanks out loud, but I could tell she was grateful. Her brief smile spoke for her. She resumed her work tilling soil.

"I hope you do find Leifnarr…" she said, "Give him a message for me, will you? Tell him he can go straight to Oblivion. He's no longer welcome here."

"We shall see." I rubbed the spines on my chin. "I will have to figure out where exactly this Hollow is, first…"

"Afraid I can't help you on that. Someone in Riften might know. You could try asking the farmers or townsfolk."

Riften. I did not want to have to visit another city. Too many eyes, too many witnesses. At this stage of things, though, could I honestly make it any easier to hunt me? I have never let a fear of personal danger stand between me and my goals. I wanted to help this woman. _Let whatever comes to me for_ _this come,_ I thought to myself. _I will not be swayed beneath the fear of the An-Xileel. _The legacy of Okan-Zeeus was tarnished, but I would see his story end in triumph.

It would all be over soon enough, once I reached Solstheim.

_If_ I reached Solstheim.

"Very well. Riften it is. I will learn what I can there."

Resigning, I set off toward Skyrim's eastern city, in search of answers.


	5. Arc 2 - Chapter 4

**~ CHAPTER 4 ~**

_Dar-Meena_

* * *

><p>Burglaries go better after sundown. The theft becomes less about your good timing and more about control and awareness. It demands a lot of skill; you have to keep yourself quiet, always. Check your footing. Balance your weight. Roll every step from heel to toe. Breathe steadily. All it takes is one mistake, one noise, and everything will fall apart.<p>

High risk stuff… and I love every bit of it.

With my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I crept through the brick house of a Nord named Bolli, owner of Riften's Fishery and among the city's well-to-do. He was going to give a generous 'donation' to pay for Keerava's debt tonight. There were plenty of other places I could've ransacked for coin, but of all the people who'd miss the money, he would the least. His business was more than profitable. Besides, I had other reasons for the preference, one being that he lacked the political pull of other wealthy residents like Maven Black-Briar; the kind that would have me strung up if my plans backfired.

Not that they were going to. The heist was plenty easy. I slipped in through a second floor window and combed the place methodically. I didn't know where Bolli kept his earnings – he's a smart business man, so he wouldn't stash it all in his house – but there was bound to be enough that I needed lying around somewhere. I eventually found a small musty safe in the basement with more than enough to satisfy the debt. I snagged a light purse filled with coins of ten and fifty denomination. Over five hundred Septims altogether. Just what I needed, with a little extra to boot.

Minding each slow step across stretches of creaking floor boards, I snuck back up to the bedroom. A couple was sleeping soundly beneath the blankets on their bed. One of them was Bolli's wife, a Bosmer named Nivenor. The other sod wasn't Bolli. Some other man I didn't bother trying to recognize. Bolli was out on business in Ivarrstead. A faint breeze blew through the window as I opened it. The night was quiet. I climbed out with no slight finesse and gently shut the panes behind me.

Instead of heading back down to the ground, though, I quietly scaled up to the roof.

An aurora was out. Its deep, purple glow banded across the stars, a fiery ribbon of pulsating light. When it first appeared in the sky, I didn't know what it was… I'd never seen northern lights before. It was beautiful. I decided to stay on the rooftop for a while. I wasn't in a rush – plenty of time to lay back and take in the sights. Not even the cold could bother me. I would always spend long nights like this when I was little girl, staring up at the stars, nestled in the branches of Chorrol's great oak. That wasn't allowed, of course. The tree is a town symbol and public property. I still remember the first time I ever climbed it; Niish-Rei was with me. After the guards found us and took us home, we got such a scolding from mother… Niish never went with me again. But I kept doing it. I got in trouble for climbing that tree too many times to count.

I didn't care. I don't shy away from the things that make me happy. I go after them.

Eventually I decided it was time to head for the Flagon. The cold was catching up to me. I descended to the city streets and wandered into darkness, keeping close to the mossy stone walls of Riften's outskirts. Guardsmen and their torches walked sleepily in the distance. Patrols had become more frequent over the past few days. Supposed to be a 'deterrent' for Riften's night crime. The guards weren't watching the roads, though. They were watching the skies.

Maybe Helgen finally spooked those stuck-ups in Mistveil to take the threat of the dragons seriously. People were startled to hear that the town got burned down. Me? I saw it coming. Meeting that dragon on the road to Riften taught me all I needed to know about their ilk. They're big, they're fast, and they can burn up whatever they damn well please. That included villages and cities. Helgen was the first story, but it wouldn't be the last. We were going to hear more.

Past the temple of Mara, I arrived at Riften's cemetery. Headstones were cropped inside an enclosure with iron fencing. A memorial building stood at one end, with a large stone coffin resting inside. Its lid won't come off unless you know how to work it. Inside lies a hidden passage, a ladder leading down to the city cistern; to the Thieves Guild.

As I sauntered through the cemetery, my eyes were drawn to the sight of nightshades. They were growing all around the graves in clusters with tall stems and violet petals. You see them a lot in graveyards. Some say the flowers only thrive in the presence of death. Tonight they looked even more vibrant than usual, glowing beneath the auroras above.

I turned to step through the memorial building. That's when I heard a voice.

"You would visit the dead at this hour, marsh sister?"

A jolt shot down my tail. I spun around. A man was standing behind me among the headstones. I could see his smile in the dim torchlight.

"I have startled you… Apologies," he said.

I knew faces in Riften. This was someone new. An Argonian mercenary or sellsword, maybe, wearing rough leather armor and a brown short cloak tucked beneath the straps of his knapsack. He was armed with a longsword sheathed at his waist and a crossbow slung over his shoulder. The man's accent carried a hint of Black Marsh – raspy, but well spoken.

His face was hidden under the hood of his cloak, horns jutting out back. All I could see were the scales on his snout and the glint in his eyes.

"And you are…?" I asked, cagily.

"A traveler. Passing through Riften," he replied.

_Great. That tells me everything I need to know. Creepy bastard…_

"Uh-huh… Look, I'm out for a walk," I said, "Do me a favor? Go bother someone else."

So much for reaching the Flagon. I couldn't use the hidden entrance while _he_ was around. What was he doing here, anyway? I'd have to kill more time. I started walking away.

"You went to some impressive lengths to steal a coin purse," the man suddenly spoke up, "This one wonders what you mean to do with it."

I stopped in my tracks.

_…__Shit…_

"Excuse me?" I griped, feigning innocence, "Are you accusing me of something?"

"Do not play me for a fool," he replied, no longer smiling, "I watched you break into that home. You were on its rooftop for some time."

_What? Is he… stalking me...?_ For someone who just caught a thief, he was oddly calm. He wasn't calling out for the guards. I got the feeling this guy had his own agenda.

"I don't know _what_ you're talking about," I insisted.

"I believe you do. But if you insist on denying it…"

He glanced away. I followed his gaze to a distant guard on patrol. It was a threat, if I'd ever seen one. He wasn't letting me off the hook. I would have tried for one more misdirection, but it was obvious he knew what I'd done. That and his weapons had me nervous.

"Fine, fine. Guilty as charged," I sighed, empty hands held up, "Guess I wasn't as subtle as I thought. Silly me."

"You sell yourself short," he said, "I doubt anyone else saw you. Your theft was well performed."

"Oh? Is that so?" I perked up, pleasantly surprised, "What's with the sudden change of heart…?"

The man stepped closer, hands on his hips.

"Do not mistake my praise," he said, "Glibness will gain you no favors here."

_Damn, you really_ _don't like what I'm doing… _

"Are you going to turn me in?" I asked, tauntingly.

The man shrugged. "I have not so far, have I?"

"Then you care about me stealing, _because_…?"

"That money doesn't belong to you. You shouldn't steal it. No one should be stealing."

I threw a sly smirk. "I don't see you trying to stop me."

His own smile was back. "And yet you haven't left."

"So… what is this, then?"

He paused.

"Call it an intervention," he replied.

"Ha! _An intervention?_ You don't look like a man of the cloth to me," I teased, "Are you some disciple of Mara? Here to turn me from a life of petty crime?"

The man deflated, still smiling. "It would be nice if things went that way..."

I returned a wide grin, head cocked to the side.

"They won't," I said.

"As expected," he sighed.

_Alright Dar, that's enough flirting, _I thought to myself. I'd had enough of this wise-ass. If he wasn't going to do anything, I wasn't about to stick around. I started backing off.

"Look, I'm sure you find this conversation captivating, but if you don't mind, I have other things… to…"

I stopped and felt for the coin purse at my waist. It wasn't there.

"…What the–!?"

A soft jingling rang out. The man glared at me.

"Let's not get carried away," he spoke sternly, holding the purse in his hand, "As I said, this doesn't belong to you."

I gaped in disbelief. _Wha- How!? When did he–!?_

Tying the sack to his belt, the man glanced at me indifferently.

"You seem surprised," he said.

Damn right! I was dumbfounded. That… Gods, I didn't even know _what _he was, but that man made a fool of me in short order. Not once did I think to watch for pickpockets. But I still should have noticed him. A thief has to learn to be aware of her surroundings. Somehow, he completely eluded me.

_Are my senses that dull? I should have noticed _something_! Who is this guy…!?_

"'No one should be stealing,' huh?" I growled, "Godsdamned, I actually bought that…"

"Bought what?" he replied, finishing his knot. I rolled my eyes.

"Oh, shut up!" I snapped, "If you were just going to take the money from me, why put on a routine?"

"I have no routine."

"What's with the self-righteous act, then!?"

"I am not acting."

"_Bullshit._"

"Hardly," he said, "This money belongs to whomever you robbed. I wasn't about to let you go and take it. Now that it's in my hands, I can return it to its proper owner."

That took me a second to process.

"You're _returning it!?_" I exclaimed, irate. The man blinked at me, arching an eyebrow.

"Yes. Are you hard of hearing?"

"WHY!?"

The red Argonian folded his arms.

"Hmm… I suppose one might call this an act of courtesy. I would be grateful if someone returned money to _me_ that had been stolen. Would you not feel the same?" His words were harshening. "Or do thieves have no qualms getting stolen from, themselves…?"

At that, the man came toward me. He stopped just as he passed, eying me intently. In the light of the torch, I could see faint claw-mark scars streaked across the side of his face.

"How we choose to treat others is just that – a choice," he said, "Be wary of the river you've chosen to swim, marsh sister. It will not end well for you. Contempt is repaid more often than compassion."

He walked away, leaving me to chew on his words. I thought it was all a joke. There was no way, _no_ _way_ that man would actually return the money I stole. Of all the things I imagined that could've gone wrong with the heist, this wasn't even remotely among them. Yet there he was, going off on his merry way.

I wasn't about to let him get away with this.

"Hey!" I barked, "You think I'm just going to let you leave!?"

"You would be unwise to try and stop me," he replied.

"And _you_ don't have the slightest clue what that's for!" I said, catching up to him, "Who do you think you are!?"

I reached out to grab his arm. He spun back and grabbed me first, snatching my wrist in a heartbeat's time. His strength and speed startled me. I reached for my knife out of threatened instinct. The man's eyes snapped down, glaring in alarm at the sight of my weapon, and for the briefest second I saw something in them.

Malice.

He pushed me away and backed out of range. There was flash of light. I froze in place, staring down the tip of his sword, drawn and poised at my head.

"Stop this foolishness," he hissed, "Withdraw your weapon and step away."

If a man could shoot fear like an arrow with the gaze of his eyes, I hadn't known it till then. I faltered. The look on his face was terrifying. I didn't know what kind of 'wanderer' this guys was, but even a fool knows a killer when she sees one.

"Please… I have no wish to hurt you," he said calmly, softening his demeanor

I recovering my wits and holstered my knife. The man lowered his sword and silently slipped it back into its scabbard. He looked away, solemnly, as though ashamed at what he'd done.

"I'm sorry, but you are stealing from no one tonight," he said, "There will be no more stunts."

Again he started off. I couldn't stop him. Maybe worse than that, I was afraid to try again. That man wasn't just adamant. He was dangerous. My heist was over. This would've been the point where my mother would tell me to cut my losses. I was playing with fire. If I kept the matter in my hands they'd only get burned. Nothing left for me to do but move on…

I knew there was a reason why I never listened to her.

"Weren't you wondering what I was going to _do_ with that money?" I called out.

The man stopped and turned around, slowly.

"You are persistent," he replied, "But yes... I did say that, didn't I? Though I am unsure what difference it makes."

"It makes every difference, idiot," I hissed, "That money isn't for me. It's for a woman named Keerava. I'm trying to pay off a debt of hers."

I waited for him to make some remark. Instead he stood still, taking in my words with new interest. I continued.

"She runs an inn with her partner, Talen-Jai. They've spent years trying to save up enough to leave Riften, but they're barely making ends meet. Now the Thieves Guild is trying to shake them down. It's a control tactic. They don't care if they can't draw blood from a stone."

"What role do you play in all of this?" the man remarked. My mind conjured the faces of the others I'd already collected debts from.

"Does it matter? I'm the one who's trying to stop them."

"By robbing another…?"

"I could've robbed anybody," I replied, "But I chose that fisher because of his wife, Nivenor. The man you're trying to return that to?" I pointed at Bolli's coin purse. "He's one of the wealthiest people in Riften. All the while, his wife splurges the wealth of her husband on lavish living. It would take Keerava and Talen months to save up the money I stole. Nivenor would spend that in a _day _without a second thought on trinkets or jewelry! If her having one less necklace means another couple can keep their means to _live_, that's damn fine by me!"

The man's tail gave a slight flick. "You care much for this inn keeper," he said.

"When I came here to Riften, I'd lost everything to my name," I spoke with enough honesty, "She and her partner took me in and put me back on my feet. I _owe them_. But if I can't find a way to pay for their debt, the Thieves Guild will send someone else to shake them down. They won't be kind and considerate."

I was thrown a disapproving scowl.

"I fail to see how this justifies your actions."

"_Bite me_," I hissed, "I know what I am. And I don't care what you think. This isn't about me, or you. This is about Keerava. She needs that money more than Bolli or Nivenor."

The man eased off, mulling over this new dilemma. He took himself to be some sort of do-gooder. It was a long shot, but I needed that purse back. I had to convince him…

"Nothing you say can be believed," he muttered, "But if you are telling the truth…"

"I am."

"…Then this _does_ change things."

He paused for a while, lost hard in thought, tail pacing back and forth.

"First, a question," he began, "I did not come here to Riften on a whim. I am searching for a place north of here called Broken Helm Hollow. Have you heard of it?"

At last! The man decided to toss me a line.

"No…" I said, "But now that you mention it, I might know someone who has."

Delvin Mallory. He may have screwed up the job in Cyrodiil, but that codger didn't become a head of the guild on stupidity. He's well connected and knows the province like the back of his hand. If anyone could tell me where to find this 'Broken Helm Hollow,' he might. And that was leverage I needed.

"I see," the man replied, "Could you take me to this person?"

I let out a huff.

"You don't strike me as the kind of guy he'd be willing to work with."

"Then could you find out the location from him?"

_That's more like it... Bartering for favors. I can work with this._

"Why yes, I _could_ do that," I said, smirking, "With some incentive, perhaps..."

"Indeed," the man sighed in acknowledgement, "It seems we both have something the other needs."

"Why don't we keep things simple, then? Give me back that money, and I'll find out whatever information you want."

The man shook his head. "No. I said I would return this, and I meant it. You will not persuade me otherwise."

"Then you're getting nothing from me," I growled, folding my arms.

"Don't be so sure," he replied, with confidence, "You have given your offer. Now I shall give mine."

My offer was more than fair! But of course, _he_ wouldn't be so reasonable.

"I will return this money to where it belongs," the man said, "And you will go to this contact of yours and find out where Broken Helm Hollow is…"

Before I could interject, he hushed me with a raise of his hand.

"…In exchange, I will pay for this debt personally, on my expense."

I startled. "What!?"

"It is more agreeable than your proposal, is it not? No one gets stolen from, and everyone gets what they want." He was smiling again with that stupid smile of his. "What do you say?"

_Gods above… I can't win…_

"I say I don't trust you for a damn second!" I snapped, "Are you out of your mind!? I'm not falling for that!" There was no chance in Oblivion that man was serious. Nobody would give away their money for something like this.

"How much did you steal?" The man checked the contents of Bolli's purse. "Five hundred Septims, give or take…?"

He returned the bag to his belt, pulled out another, and tossed it. The bag sailed into my hands with a rattling thud.

"That should be more than half of what you need," the man said, grinning broadly, "The rest is yours, right now, if you choose to help me."

I loosed the mouth of the bag, speechless. There were over three hundred Septims inside.

"…Deadra and divines, you're serious!" I said softly.

"I am always serious," he replied.

This man was willing to pay Keerava's debt to keep me from stealing. _Who does that? Why is he doing this?_ I couldn't believe it. But as crazy as his offer was… it still got me the money I needed. The end result would be the same. He was right. It was an agreeable offer. The only one who seemed to be getting short changed was _him_.

_Wake up idiot, he's manipulating you! There must be more to this he isn't telling. He's dangerous! You can't trust him! Are you just going to let him string you along!?_

Apparently yes. I was.

"Fine. You've got a deal," I muttered, "Give me the rest, and I'll do what you ask. As long as you don't try anything funny…"

The man nodded. "I apologize, but there is one last concern. It would be easy for you to bring me false information. You understand, yes? I have no wish to be led astray."

I grumbled inwardly. "Then you'll just have to trust me, won't you?"

"And I do. Which is why I would have you navigate for the both of us."

My eyes widened.

"…You wouldn't…"

"Help me find this hollow, marsh sister," he appealed, "I will gladly compensate you further. I know it is much of me to ask, but given the circumstances, I see no better way. My time is of essence and I cannot afford set-backs or detours."

He wanted me to travel with him. Worse, he'd only given me half of the payment. Something told me he wouldn't give the rest until agreed to help him. I'd been roped into becoming his insurance. No wonder he made the deal sound so reasonable. Godsdamned, I knew better than to trust him…

…So why did I?

"I cannot say there isn't a risk of danger. But no harm will come to you. I promise," the man spoke with grave conviction. Was he talking about hazards on the roads? Or himself? Maybe both, I don't know. I had every reason to think this man would let me down. But something in my gut told me I could trust him. People in this world like to put on masks, acting the parts that get them what they want. They fake themselves and when push comes to shove, you see what's really behind the curtain. But _he_ wasn't a fake. He wasn't acting. In everything he said and did, that man gave an air of complete and utter sincerity.

"If you say so," I sighed, conceding to his plan, "When and where?"

"By the lakeside, after sunrise. Will you be rested enough?"

"I'll deal with it."

The man curled his tail, erecting some posture, and regarded me warmly. He tossed over the remaining payment.

"I shall wait for you, then. Gather whatever means you need for the journey," he said, leaving quietly, "And please, do forgive me."

"Forgive you?"

"Yes. For my harshness before… and for misjudging you."

_Misjudging…?_

Damn it all. His agenda was a mystery, but he seemed determined to leave an impression on me.

"I could always steal the money again, you know," I said to him, finally, "You haven't changed anything."

The wanderer turned back one last time.

"Come now. You think I don't realize this?" he replied, coolly, "Your actions are your own, marsh sister. You are free to steal again as you please." He rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. "Just as I am free to stop you."

With the parting of those words, he disappeared into the dark streets of Riften. I lingered in the graveyard, coming to terms with everything that just happened, before I headed down to the Thieves Guild hideout. I had a debt to pay, and preparations to make. To think the night started off so well…

If I've said it once, I'll say it a million times: I don't know how I get talked into half the things I do.

~ooooo~

"You look like you're ready for long journey," Talen remarked.

Morning came sooner than I thought it would. I'd given the money to Brynjolf and told Keerava about the debt. It took some effort to reassure her that I hadn't stolen any money to pay for it. My original plan after the heist involved not telling her how I got the money. She ended up being much more suspicious of my method than I thought she'd be. She and Talen were grateful, though, for my unexpected gesture. They expressed their thanks.

My work in Riften was done. It was time for the next order of business.

"Hmph. I'm not allowed to go hiking on a nice day?" I bantered, gathering my things to leave the Bee and Barb.

"I didn't think you were the type for that sort of thing," Talen replied.

I threw a bow and quiver over my shoulder. _My_ bow and quiver. I'd decided to put some of that wanderer's money to use.

"Then I guess you don't know the type of girl I really am," I said, lightheartedly, "Try not to get in any more trouble with the guild while I'm gone."

"Bah, those lowlifes can go jump off the pier," Keerava growled, hunched over the bar counter. She sure was a bold one, defiant till the end toward the Thieves Guild. I don't think Talen fully approved – neither did I, for that matter. The guild was in bad straits, but they could still stir a lot of trouble for the both of them.

"We'll be fine," Talen assured me, "You be careful too, Dar-Meena… Watch the skies."

"You don't have to tell _me_ that," I snorted, stepping out of the door.

The city was alive again, filled with the usual sounds, sights, and smells. Leaves blew in a strong autumn wind. The air above was clear and cloudless. I strolled to the gates, passing by people I'd come to know in this place. Marise, the produce merchant. Snilf, the begger. Madessi, the jeweler.

I was surprised to see two more new faces. A white furred Khajiit, wearing a simple dress, and a Breton courier. It looked like the cat received some delivery and she'd stopped to chat. I didn't hear anything about a Khajiit staying in the city. Odd, but it didn't bother me. It's not like I was in the mood to make any new acquaintances. Might turn out to be as crazy as that wanderer…

Speaking of whom, I found him a far ways off from the city. He was quietly sitting cross-legged by the lake, watching the wind blow stripes of waves across its surface. His hood was still pulled over, only adding to his lonesome appearance. Beneath the morning sun, his bright red scales shone clearly. I walked up behind him, idly rubbing the burn on my shoulder, and opened my mouth to speak.

"Were you able to settle your debt?" he asked abruptly.

I grimaced. "Yeah, yeah, everything's fine. Let's just get this over with."

"You know where we're to go?"

"Broken Helm Hollow, right?" I said, pulling out the map Devlin had written on, "It's a full day's walk from here, along the Velothi mountains. Used to be a hideout for a group of bandits." I paused. "Is there a reason you're trying to find this place? What's waiting for us there?"

"I do not know," he said eagerly, standing up, "I am searching for someone. If we do not find him there, I hope to at least find some trace of where he went."

"You going after this guy?" I asked, with some hesitation.

The man looked at me reassuringly. "No. I am not pursuing him. Merely investigating. If we have a day's trip ahead of us, let's not dawdle any longer," He gestured with an outstretched arm, inviting me to take the lead. "Shall we?"

Frowning, I folded my arms and kept my feet firmly planted.

"I'm supposed to travel with somebody who hasn't even told me his name…?"

The man adjusted a strap on his knapsack.

"That did not affect our conversation before," he said, flippantly.

"I have to call you _something_," I groaned, "Don't piss around. Just tell me your name already."

There was sudden solemnity in the wanderer's expression. It left as soon as it came. He smiled, letting out a long sigh.

"…Ah, but what is a name?" he remarked, pulling back his hood. A breeze rustled through the feathers on his head as I met the gaze of his sky-blue eyes. "You may call me Chases-The-Wind, if you wish."

_Chases-The-Wind?_ What a weird name. It was almost… gentle sounding. It didn't suit him.

"Okay then, Chases-The-Wind… Am I leading?"

"If you know the path, marsh sister."

"I do," I replied, brushing a comb of claws through my feathers, "I'm Dar-Meena, by the way. You can stop calling me 'marsh sister.'"

He nodded his acknowledgment. "As you wish, Dar-Meena."

That was how it started – how I met Chase for the first time. It was a meeting that changed everything. I never could have known, but my life in Skyrim was poised to take a drastic turn.

He would see to that. In more ways than one.


End file.
